


Cloves

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hot guy walks into a bar...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cloves

Chris doesn't lift his head when the other man sits down at the bar, two stools away. He does look up when he hears the metallic snick of an old-fashioned lighter popping open. The unmistakable scent of clove reaches his nostrils and he straightens his back, glances from the corners of his eyes.

"You mind putting that out?" he asks. The other man shrugs.

"Mind? Yeah, think I would."

Chris curls his fingers around the base of his beer bottle. The condensation on the glass drips and pools against his skin.

"It's rude," he says.

The man blows smoke through the other side of his mouth.

"Better?" he asks.

Chris looks away and doesn't answer him.

The man keeps smoking cloves, one after the other. The cloying, spicy smell taunts Chris and burns down his throat to his lungs every time he breathes. He watches as the man flirts with the petite brunette bartender, the cocktail waitresses with the perfected swing in their hips. Chris keeps his lips on the neck of his beer. He soothes himself by sliding the rounded amber glass along his bottom lip.

There's a raucous laugh and Chris looks up to see the smoking man chatting with another patron at the bar. Her eyes are blue, almost as blue as Chris'. The man lights another clove cigarette after the woman turns back to someone else, a friend, maybe. Chris finishes his beer quickly. He's surprised when he looks up and sees the man staring at him.

"Let me guess," the man drawls. "Still bothering you?"

"Guess I had to get used to it." Chris lifts his chin slightly, glancing at the blue-eyed girl. "And you moved on to bothering someone else."

The man smirks. "Jealous?"

"Of you? Not really."

"No." He takes a long drag from the dark brown cigarette, holding it still with his pursed lips and nothing else. He pulls it away from his mouth with three fingertips and his thumb curled on the filter. Licks his lips. "Not of me."

Chris feels a trickle of sweat fall down the side of his neck, just behind his ear. He twitches and leaves a large bill on the bar, gets up from his stool and rushes away toward the men's room. The air is less smoky in the corridor leading to it but dank with musk and stale sex. Chris hears footsteps behind him and walks faster. He's almost to the restroom door when strong hands pull him into an alcove and press him firmly against a wall. It's dark; almost too dark to see, but Chris has the glint of the man's teeth to guide him. He swallows hard and thinks about running his tongue along their sharp edges.

"Problem?" the man asks, leaning close. His breath smells of that spice—hell, of all him does. It practically seeps from his pores, buried deep in the weave of his suit jacket. He trails deft fingertips—the same ones that so carefully cradled the cigarette—along the pronounced bulge in Chris' trousers. Chris lets out a huff of startled breath and grabs the hem of the man's jacket to pull him closer.

"No," Chris whispers. "Not anymore."

He can't help himself; he ducks his head the small distance it takes to bury his face in the man's neck and breathe in the aroma of cloves and solid male muscle. Chris darts his tongue against the fast-beating pulse that's so close to his mouth. He feels the man's breath hitch in surprise, and then there are warm fingers on the back of his neck, holding him in place. The other hand cups him firmly between his legs, fingers unzipping his trousers quickly and slipping inside.

"Fuck," Chris hisses, jerking forward. He sucks in another breath, another lungful of Karl. "C-can we stop?" he whispers.

"Some actor you are. Can't even stay in character."

Karl sinks to his knees in front of Chris and in the absence of light, Chris can only see the whites of his eyes. Then he feels Karl grip him, with three dastardly curled fingers and his thumb, feels the wet shock of his tongue against the tip of his cock.

"Yeah, Chris," Karl murmurs. He presses his face to the skin beneath the jut of Chris' hipbone and licks slowly all along the crease, to the base of his cock. "We can stop."

Chris lets his head drop back as Karl's mouth engulfs him, the scent of cloves still flickering all around, burning a hot trail through his body.


End file.
